It was a particularly difficult night in 2014. I was suffering emotionally, distraught, helpless. Trying to organize the tornado of thoughts and feelings reeling through my mind, I prayed. I prayed that I may offer up my suffering for all those who care for me … physically, emotionally and spiritually.
I held my Franciscan crown rosary tightly in my hand. I didn’t pray it, but held it for comfort. I looked around the room and saw my collection of statues of saints, many Franciscans, and thought that greater people than I have suffered far more.
The experience slowly passed and I left the room, went downstairs. Before I left my bedroom, though, I placed my Franciscan crown rosary on the dresser. It was secure, safely placed.
About 20 minutes later, I heard a noise from upstairs. I thought a piece of art had fallen off a wall in the guest room. My girlfriend (now my wife), who was visiting and had helped me through my difficulty, went upstairs to investigate. She found the guest room to be untouched. The master bedroom, however, was a different story.
My Franciscan crown rosary was lying, as if neatly placed, at the foot of my bed.